Moon and Sunrise
by aprettyfacelies
Summary: The truth is hiding in your eyes, and it's hanging on your tongue. Just boiling in my blood, but you think that I can't see what kind of man that you are. If you're a man at all.
1. How Did We Get Here?

_**First thing's first, shameless advertising:** My tumblr, lots of Cherry, go look and cherish. Second, my collaboration channel with SlinkyT, there's a (mostly Cherry) story being posted on there with you should check out, please, and bring in feedback. Both can be found on my profile, if you're interested._

_**Onto to more important things:** This story is being developed from one of the one-shots in my Cherry drabble collection, "ABC, as easy as 123." So if this first chapter seems familiar, that is why. But, because of **berrywarbler**, I started thinking of turning this into a full-length piece of fiction (even though she suggested it for the zombie apocalypse and I decided to take on the vampire universe instead). It's taken me a while, but I've finally written something up. I'm not entirely sure what full-length means to me yet, though. But, due to her giving me the idea, and because she has faithfully commented and been there for most (if not all) of my Cherry (and recently Shumchele) writing adventures, I think it's about time I dedicate something to her._

_So, Ashley, thank you. Gosh, I hope that's your name or this will be awkward. And I hope that the rest of the story (because you've already read this first chapter) is to your satisfaction. Thank you for being one of the best readers and supporters a writer could ever ask for. It means a lot to me, it really does. I less than three you. :)_

_On with the show._

* * *

He held her shivering form tightly in his arms, his lips pressed to her head as he tried his hardest to calm her. He ignored the pain her nails digging into his arms caused him, knowing that she needed to inflict pain upon him to numb some of his own. His whispers of encouragement and soft lullabies were overshadowed by her excessive groans and hisses of agony, but that didn't stop him from telling her that the worst would be over soon enough.

He remembered when this had happened to him, in cold night in November. He had been left alone in a barn, he recalls, yelling out for a force unknown to stop the burn in his throat and the swelling of his gums. Everything was colored black and white, and his heart pumped against his strengthening rib cage at an unbearable rate. His veins felt as though they were being pricked by tens of thousands of needles and pins, all of them cutting through into his skin repeatedly.

He remembers the last few minutes before he blacked out, how he simply gave into the excruciating aches and imaginary stabs of unseen sharp objects piercing into his skin. How everything blurred before taking the shapes and sizes of his worst nightmares and jumping at him as he let out his final scream that night.

He promised himself he wouldn't let that happen to her. He wouldn't have her suffer as much as he had. If he had a choice, he wouldn't have had this girl suffer at all, for she didn't deserve the life his master had served her. But there was nothing he could do to reverse the recycle, only protect her from the many struggles and dangers that awaited her.

He would be her light in the dark, the light he wishes he had had all those years ago. And should his - should their - master wish to dispose of him at some point, he would be sure to drag the girl in his arms with him into their second death. He knew from experience that death would be better than having to live under the command of his master alone. He had lived through the torture alone for one too many decades; he wouldn't let the same happen to her.

Allowing her to go through this with him didn't make him any better of a person, in his mind, but there really wasn't any way to get something positive from this life. He would mull over his chooses for a few nights and forget about his mistakes and all the blood on his hands one morning, repeating the cycle on a clean slate free of guilt and regret that would eventually pile up again. It was a vicious cycle, but he had years to perfect his act.

He'd teach her the cycle too. He'd teach her to be the same soulless and disgusting blood-razed monster he was. There was, after all, no other way for their kind if they wished to survive in this second life.

When she stops moving in his arms, he peers up at their master before planting delicate kisses up the drying path of blood that had stopped running down her neck. She seemed to sink into his embrace now, instead of fighting it off. He realized she was finally in the stage of acceptance, and it was a triumph considering it had taken him ages to get to where she was. He wondered how long it would take her to trust him. Just him, the only known 'saint' among a breed of merciless sinners.

"We'll feed at dusk."

He could only nod at the words as he watched his master, his maker, his murderer, step out of the cabin, noting her blonde hair and pale skin being kissed by the sun just before she slams the door shut. It was only then when he realized that light streams of daylight were coming in through the windows surrounding them. He wished that, for a moment, that part of the myths were true and that his skin would be devoured by the sun's rays. If only it was so easy to escape this life.

"She seems nice," the girl in his arms husks out, as if almost humored by the older woman's behavior. He smiles at this for a moment, for what reasons he isn't entirely sure. He chooses not to respond, though, for he fears he wouldn't know how. Conversation over something other than the latest kill had slowly become lost to him over the years.

And a few seconds later, out of absolutely no where, she sings out a string of 'La's'. Her voice sounds strained but somehow, there's still life in the sound of it all, like she managed to tangle her voice up with a little bit of hope. She stops after the tenth la, clearing her throat and closing her eyes with a heavy sigh. It's relief, he realizes. He remembers feeling that way when he was finally able to get back onto his feet and dance without his every limb silently threatening to tear itself off from his body. He doesn't remember feeling relief since then. He thinks that maybe that might change at some point, with her around.

When her breathing seems to even out and her body grows a little heavier, he realizes he isn't going to be her light or savior in all of the darkness and bloodshed that is to come.

She's going to be his.

* * *

**The extra author's note:** I want you to know in advance that the characters might seem terribly out of character, but they're going through things and their character are bound to change in some form, but I will try my absolute hardest to keep as close to the actual characters' personalities as possible, so that it is realistic yet enjoyable.


	2. On My Own

He isn't completely sure how long the two of them had been laying there, silent, staring up at the crescent moon in the center of the gorgeous mess of stars coloring the night sky.

Time has been one of the many things he's rid his thoughts of almost entirely. Now that he doesn't have much of a need for it any longer.

Their thoughts are weaved in perfect formation, contrasting and blending, thought they are unaware as neither party wishes to vocalize the pictures and sounds and words stuck to the strings of memory in their minds.

Their bodies are worlds apart.

Her knees are bent and have been lifted off the green grass below them, with her hair snaking around the blades of grass around her head – like water unable to sink into the soil, roaming seamlessly for a path of escape. He was lying on his back like she was, a large area of vacant grass between the two, legs stretched out and arms keeping the back of his head off the ground. There was a faint glittering of metal at her thigh, the glow of the moon's light cast upon the piece of jewelry she had worn since the day she was reborn. He preferred referring to the event as her murder, but his maker – their maker – had airily asked him to stop being such a pessimist, an innocent smirk set upon her pink lips.

"You were such a gleeful boy in your past life, Chang," he recalls her telling him the night after he had heard news of his mother's passing. Natural causes, was what the blonde had told him, old age. It felt strange for him to have such that one sickening serge of jealously mixed in with his overwhelming state of sorrow. Wanting to die like she had but knowing he never could, wishing she hadn't died at all. "Please do try carrying that over into this life. I won't hesitate to dispose of you if you become too much of an emotional liability."

It had been weeks that had gone by and the necklace staged around her neck, like a tattoo marked onto one's skin, seemingly impossible to remove.

He wanted to ask what it meant, what it all meant; her taking it off after so long, the name carved in that classic but curled font that spelled out the name of a boy that he had never known, why she had to do it tonight of all night.

The day itself was insignificant; at least it was in his eyes. But the blonde they both answered to had quite a different view on the events that had taken place earlier that night.

It was her first kill, on her own, tonight. Her victim had been a man in his mid-to-late thirties, wandering down the street with a briefcase in one hand and a small bundle of rolled up music sheets in the other, happily humming a Hall and Oats tune under his breath, heading home from a long day of work.

Quinn wanted to celebrate the occasion with a raid upon the unsuspecting animals roaming around the trees in the somewhat forbidden area of town, the tall tress lined by man-made tracks at their feet, to keep the mortals away from the dangers that lurked behind the leafy fences.

He wanted time alone.

So naturally, the brunette chose to pick into his alone time and tag along. Because she enjoyed watching Quinn's smirk melt into a scowl. He supposed it gave her a momentary sense of freedom from the blonde's invisible binds. He wishes she would stop, though. The road to acceptance would be easier for her to travel if she gave up all her hopes and fantasies of flying into the clouds with the shackles that had held her to the ground broken and forgotten.

They never leave, disappear, or vanish. They are what he thought her necklace was: Permanent.

"He was my music teacher," he isn't sure if she's talking to him, or if she had spoken at all. Her voice is raspy and broken, so different from the strong and assertive tone he had grown familiar with.

He hums in response, prompting the voice to go on.

"He was so happy to see me, so relieved. Told me everyone had begun thinking I had been killed by my faceless captors. He was going to take me back to my fathers, back to my life, back to Finn."

Mike chooses then to turn over and lie on his side, one arm beneath his head while his other hand lay awkwardly in the space between their two bodies, uncertain of whether or not he should try and comfort her with his touch. Not sure if it even was comfort she was seeking, should she have been looking to get anything out of his at all.

"The name on that pendant means more to you than your parents, than your own life?"

"I never said that."

"It was implied."

Silence falls upon them again and the corners of his lips have curled into a frown that's hardly noticeable.

She was wrong, misguided, blinded by the shadow this Finn was hiding her in. He doesn't know the boy, doesn't even care, and shouldn't even be bothered by how Rachel sorts out her priorities. But he is, because he knows better. He cares because she's his incarnation, his second chance, and he feels the need to protect her, protect himself, from having to go through that pain again.

"I was infatuated with a girl in my time."

The girl lying next to him scoffs at the words and he finds himself smiling for a moment before the memories he was preparing to dig up from the very depths of his mind washed the smile right off.

"She had meant everything to me. We'd known each other since we were little. I'd spent more time with her, thinking about her, and wanting her, than I really should have but I didn't care because I thought I loved her and she loved me, because I thought it would all be worth it."

"Let me guess, it wasn't?"

The hoarse undertones in Rachel's voice were masked by boredom as she pushed herself up into a seated position, wrapped her arms around her legs and hugging her knees closer to her chest.

He laughs.

He laughs because he's perfectly breaking inside all over again and the one time he dares to ventures into this cave of misery, his confidant can't even pretend to care/ He laughs because she really turning into him; his bitter, brooding self. This image doesn't flatter her, he thinks.

"She married my brother." He informs her, his tone of voice almost as casual and light enough to be carried off by the slight breeze wafting around their bodies.

Rachel turns her head to look at him them, and he's lying on his back one more, his eyes shut. Her eyes are gleaming with hints of curiosity, and the normally bright chocolate brown in her eyes has been tinted a cloudy black.

"Two months after I had disappeared. I was planning on returning. Quinn had promise to let me go if I had anything of value to risk my 'life' for back home. She knew, of course."

When he's greeted with no half-hearted try at solace, or a line of disinterest, he realizes it's time for him to go back inside. There's nothing for him here, or anywhere. Sometimes he forgets and thinks that perhaps his life has meaning, but then he goes through moments like this that help him remember he does not. That he never will.

He leaves her seated there on the grass, mutely staring up at the starry sky. She seems to be fond of them, he reluctantly notices.

She also seems quite fond of the necklace in the palm of her hand, and he turns away from the window with his jaw clenched and the patches of his blood boiling when he catches a glimpse of her putting the damned collar on again.


End file.
